


A Dance of Wyverns

by Eriendor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, Wyverns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriendor/pseuds/Eriendor
Summary: A young Scot gets dragged into the wyvern gladiatorial fights of London, and brings down the entire organization in the process.
Kudos: 1





	1. Farmland

I woke like I did every morning: with one eye half open and the other valiantly fighting to stay down and convince me it was still night-time. Unfortunately for the brave soldiers’ efforts I was greeted by bright sunshine playing across my face, the distant singing birds, and the fresh lowland wind, carrying teasing scents to me: hints of flowers from my windowsill, and cow droppings from my job. I pressed my shoulders back against the bed, using my elbows to prop myself up and looked blearily out the window. With one limp hand I rubbed at my eyes, clearing the crust and forcing them to open, blinking repeatedly before looking out at the sight of the farmfield.

The coos were out already, I noted with resignation. The old barn door, a veteran of more battles than I could imagine, was simply too little to stop them from fetching their morning breakfast. The bell on Bonni rang quietly as she leaned down to munch, and I watched the sight quietly. The sun had barely poked over the horizon, marking it as morning, early morning. Its rays speared through the trees and lit up the hills, and a single word came to mind at the sight.

“Damn.” The word came out half a curse, half a yawn that I covered with my hand as I swung my legs over the bed. They hit the cold wooden floor below, and I took a moment to let the shock of the temperature change to aid in my awakening a moment before standing up fully.

The warm blanket drifted off my shoulders, calling me like a siren back into its embrace, but I ignored it and shuffled out of the bedroom. My feet took me past the pail of water that serves as my bath but I ignored it, continuing onwards towards the front of the small house. It was the first day of planting, and there was no point in trying to clean up right before going elbow deep in dirt, plant, and fertiliser.

I grabbed the clothing hanging from the doorframe, throwing it on as I closed the door behind me and continued. One awkward hop to another, changing as I moved.

The sound of my feet echoed down the narrow hallway, passing by the other empty bedroom and the small closet past it to enter the main room. A small window next to the door was the only thing allowing light into this room, illuminating little more than the dresser below it and the fireplace. The hay-strewn floor crunched underfoot, throwing dust to play in the light cast in the window, which I watched for a few moments before taking a seat at the table. The only food present on it, and in the house for that matter, was a small plate of apples. The meat ran out yesterday, along with the produce from the spring garden. I needed to head into the village at some point to get more… but an apple was enough to start.

I glanced at the empty pantry as I ate, the crunchy apple seeming to almost echo in the silent room... I sigh again, take another bite, and walk out the door. The old wooden door put up a fight, resisting me like my barn should have resisted my coos, but an application of the shoulder was enough to finally free me.

The transition between the cool interior of the house to the warm August is enough to wake me the rest of the way up, and I lean back against the wall as I look over the fields. Past the old storehouse lies the first of three fields, freshly tilled yesterday and waiting for this year's lot of turnip seeds… hopefully seeds that are more successful than last years. My eyes flit from the tilled soil to the buds of green on the far side, the potatoes I planted last month took well, it’s a crop I know god given little about, but I’ve heard good things at least.

I stepped forward, idly tossing the core of the apple onto the ground as I made my way around the farmhouse and towards the barn. My shoes clicked against the old cobbled stone, the surface cracked from decades of trodding. “Morning Bonni!” I called out, running my hand along the stone fence that surrounds the field as I went.

The coos ear twitched, and she slowly raised her head towards the sound of my voice before she returned to grazing. “Oooh,” I say in disappointment. “That’s not a proper mornin’ greet is it?”

Dylan mooed in response, his tail flicking behind him as he ate his grass. “Oh see, Dylan gets it. You could learn proper manners from him, Bonni.”

Another moo was my only response, this time from William. I grinned and hopped the fence, walking amongst the cops as I made my way towards the barn.

My smile dropped as I assessed the damage: the wooden door was broken off its hinges. The thing was old and hurt to start with, but it seems the coos managed to bump it enough that it failed completely. A sigh escaped my lips as I ran my hand along the wood, I’d need to prop it up and get it back onto its hinges, lest a whipper drake or the like get into the barn during the night. The little bastards have been trying at that, if the long series of scratches on the wood are anything to go by. No fox or wolf left long singular gouges in wood like that, so one of the forest wyverns was probably getting ideas after my cattle.

I looked out to the west forest, and beyond it the city, where more than a few whipper drakes were let loose in the countryside once they got too large to keep around the home. That also meant they went after the local cattle, which was unfortunate since the local polis weren’t going to go chasing after them and I just didn’t have anywhere near the money to hire a wyvern catcher. I looked between the forest and the scratches on the barn, then to the interior of the barn itself. There was a time when the local farmers could pool their money to deal with such a thing.

But I was the only one who didn’t move into the city for work.

It would be another season before I could possibly pay to fix the barn entirely up, if the farm was even around that long. Two bad harvests in a row, on top of more industrial farms easily out-producing me, meant times that were already tough had devolved to the point of complete unsustainability.

But there were seeds to plant. With another sigh I walked along the barn to hoist the large ditty bag of seeds onto my shoulder. It took a bit of adjusting, but soon I could stand up straight under the load, and took it back outside. It was a quick walk from the cowpen to the first of the fields, and with careful adjustment so that the ditty bag rested underneath my arm I started to sow the seeds into the tilled soil. It was careful, monotonous work, yet it was something I couldn’t help but always enjoy: in due time, with patience and care, I would have made something big from very little. It fascinated me when I saw my father doing it as a child, and it continued to fascinate me as I started the work myself at age six. At the age of twenty it had never lost the simple magic it possessed, and there was pride in doing what my ancestors had been doing for millenia. Though the thought that I may be the last put a bitter taste in my mou-

My musings were interrupted by a roar, and I looked up from my work to see a shadow moving across the sky. A wyvern, probably twice the size of my house, was flying off towards the city. Ropes or chains attached to the joints of its wings were pulled taut, and an airship trailed behind it on those chains. One of those newer designs I’d heard about at the market: a mix of wood and some metal that was kept from falling completely via balloons. I had no idea how it worked, but it was nothing less than a fascinating sight.

“Oh! That’s the new model!” a familiar child’s voice ripped me from my appreciation, and I looked back past the cow paddock to see little Charlie leaning over my fence and pointing up towards the sky.

His hands were cupped around his right eye like a spyglass, his mouth open as he tried to make out every detail of the airship. “Issit now?” I called out. “New enough that it keeps ya from yer classes Charlie?”

Charlie’s hands dropped, and the boy gave me a pout. “Oh get off it Arthur, I’m heading there now aren’t I?”

“Nah, yer hanging ‘round my paddock now.” I replied. “there’ll be plenty of talk of airships in the village ah’m sure. ‘Less ya want to help me with seedin’ again?”

Charlie ran off at that, his shoes kicking up dust as he sprinted down the rough road with his jacket catching the wind behind him. I smiled at the sight, watching him until he went out of sight before returning to my seeding.

It took me a good four hours to finish half the fields, the farm isn’t particularly large, certainly nowhere near as large as the new owners up north. But father’s farm was by far the largest in the county, and such a plot of land takes considerable time to seed on one's own… and far longer to plow for that matter.

The roaring never stopped either, the wyvern circled the city for a good long while before landing, it has done three passes since. What was once a rather interesting sight has become a tad more annoying cause the damn thing kept spooking the coos. I placed my hand above my eyes to shade them as I watched it go in for another landing, the coos watching it warily… but not warily enough to stop eating as it started to make its descent. I had only been near a Wyvern once, a full sized one anyway, however many years back when dad took me to a fair out in Glasgow. Damn thing was bigger than the farmhouse and was being used to keep a factory alight, dad always told me about how honorable they were. Frankly I didn’t know where he’d learn that, but still, something had to be magical about flying up that high.

Course, like every other kid in England I wanted to own one when I was younger, but the family could barely afford the cattle by that point, let alone a tame wyvern. My arguments about how easily it could pull the plough were ignored, and frankly now seeing the size of the field as an adult I’d agree with my father faster than I’d take my own side.

I tossed the remains of the apple I was eating over the fence and made my way over to the coos, Bonni’s head turning up to look at me as I did so. Her head tilted slightly as I approached, her black eyes curious through the mop of long brown hair the breed was known for. “How ya doin’ today Bonni? Dylan been given’ ya any troubles?”

Bonni stared at me for a moment before lowering her head to eat more grass. “Well good ta’ hear it.” I said glibly, then moved past her towards the other field.

“You talking to the coos again Arthur?” Mary’s voice called out. And I turned my head to look at the woman who stopped to lean across my fence near where Charlie did earlier. She was lovely as always, her auburn hair done up enough that it was maintained but loose enough that errant strands hung down in curls over her forehead, and she was wearing that brown dress I loved seeing her in.

Not that I was particularly happy to see her. “Ah am,” I replied, “da’ always spoke of havin’ an intelligent conversation, and unless ah’m headin’ out to the creek to speak to my reflection there’s hardly none of that ‘round.”

Mary snorted then hopped the fence, her dress barely clearing the stone as she did so. “Oh come now Arthur, ya can’t still be mad can ya? Ya know I don’t get any say in it.”

I walked past her towards the field, the diddy bag bouncing at my side as I unlocked the fence and started spreading the seeds once more.

“Arthur!” Mary shouted indignantly. “Ya know I’ll write!”

I paused in tossing the seeds, slowly looking up towards the girl… woman. “Like George does? Or Angus? Mabel? Or any of the others who went to the city for work? When was the last time ya heard from any of them?”

A distant crack of thunder sounded out, and I turned my head to see storm clouds forming to the south, rain would make the day easier, even if it made Mary’s words have the wrath of god behind them when she spoke again.

“Ya can’t stay on the farm Arthur, you have what, another season in you before you’ll have to sell?” Mary called for me from the otherside of the fence.

I didn’t look back at her as I spoke. “Aye, maybe a bit longer if ah get a good harvest this year.” I replied quietly, “less I get a good amount of money in the farm is as doomed as the rest ‘round here.”

“I know ya said you’d take care of it, but do ya got to be so stubborn about it? When was the last time ya even had a full meal Arthur?” Mary asked, worry in her tone.

I ignored the rumbling in my stomach at her mention of food, but I did finally turn back to look her in the eyes as I spoke. “Ah have enough to keep me alive Mary, ah’ll have more if the potatoes come through. Ah hope… the city is nice to ya.”

She was just one in a long line of people packing up after centuries of working the land to find ‘easy employment’ in the cities, in a way you couldn’t blame them. Farming was being overtaken by the landlords with all the new laws. But I couldn’t just leave what my father and mother left me.

“Goodbye Arthur.” Mary said simply, staring at me a moment before walking down the path.

“Goodbye Mary,” I replied quietly, then turned back to start tossing the seed again.

By the time I finished it was already well into the evening, the clouds I saw at noon having drifted and come alive around four in the evening to wet the fields and save me from having to do that extra job. It did give me the job of moving the coos into the barn early however, despite how hungry they can get no coos in their right mind are going to sit out and eat in a thunderstorm. Still, the barn was locked, and I was sitting down next to the table, watching the rain and thunder come down outside the window.

It was a long day, it was a painful day, and I’ll be hurting yet more in the morning, but for now at least the hardest part is over. Still, my mind couldn’t help but think about what Mary was saying before she left, I’m stubborn yes, but it’s wrong for someone to just up and leave their home behind like that.

Not that I can say my own stubbornness is much better, I was just holding on as long as possible until I had to pack up and move myself. But at least I was putting in the effort, still, my eyes glanced down to the meager produce from my vegetable garden and I dropped a piece of the snipe I was eating onto the table. It wasn’t much, but it was the food I had to eat until I could turn a harvest… or figure out something in town for that matter.

I sighed, then reached for another piece before the world came crashing down around me. A deafening thunderous roar pierced the air, and for a moment that’s what I thought it was, a close lightning strike shaking the earth and piercing my ears… but it was moving, and it was followed by a loud crash of shattering wood and a god almighty roar towards the direction of the barn. I jumped up, knocking the chair over as I sprinted to the window.

The barn was on fire! Halfway collapsed, with the coos running out of the building mooing wildly. The grass was aflame, as was the vast majority of the structure, new bursts of flame erupting from it as something struggled within it. Then, I saw it, a long black beast with grey curling horns. It was tangled in the fishing netting I kept in the loft along with collapsed timber, a wyvern struggling trying to pull itself free and spewing fire all over in its panic.

This was not the wyvern of my youth, this was smaller, sleeker, and far angrier and more panicked.

I leapt through the window and sprinted towards the barn.


	2. Night of Fire

\---

To say I ran would be an understatement; I sprinted like the devil himself was chasing me as I crossed the yard towards the barn. The coos ran past me, mooing wildly in panic as their home burned behind them. I made the single fastest trip between my home and the barn of my life, and smoke already choked the air by the time I arrived. I covered my mouth with my arm as I looked into the flaming wreckage of the family barn. My hand clasped the edge of the barn door to catch myself as I looked inside, the wood hot to the touch. The beast was in the center of it, roaring terribly, great pillars of flame erupting up from its mouth to turn the already burning ceiling to cinder. It’s roar lit up the fields like day as they stretched twenty feet in the air, then it lowered its head, its wings flapping uselessly as it sat in the center under timber and hay. 

It was a sleek thing; grey, though painted orange in the flaming light. Two horns jutted out the side of its head, one slightly chipped from the crash, though that was far the worst of the damage. No, that would be the large plank of timber which had slipped between its chest plating and into its chest. It flapped wildly, the wooden spear shaking and blood dripping from its mouth. The barn rumbled in the sound of it’s rapid breath, when it could not shake at the sound of it’s roar.

The timber was keeping it from moving, and was keeping it from flying from the looks of things. I stared at it, watching it thrash in the burning barn for several moments before my instincts took over, my hand reached and grabbed the rope kept near the door, then I ran, one arm covering my mouth for what little good it did as I scrambled through the burning barn to come to a stop near the screeching creature. It’s head was thrashing wildly, sending the timber and hay that had stacked on it flying, causing me to duck and dive to the ground as dozens pounds of it came down crashing behind me. Heat washed over me as I crawled forward towards the timber, flame billowing over me and filling the air with the scent of something that reminded me of burning coal. The beast was angry and panicked, screaming in pain and frustration as it tried anything and everything to get free. It was like a bull stuck in a fence, it would tear everything apart just to get free, no matter what it had to destroy or how it had to hurt itself in the process.

Luckily for it I had worked with more than one bull before. I slipped the rope around the timber, moving fast to tie a knot with it. “This may hurt a bit!” I shouted, then wrapped the rope around my hand and ran to the side. With a roar of pain and the clattering of lumber the timber bent then slid out of the beasts chest. Slick and red it bounced along the ground behind me, and I dropped the rope and dived out of the way as the wyvern dug the edges of its wings into the ground and charged out of the barn. 

The ground shook as it moved, it was too big for the doors, and they along with the frame simply cracked and broke away as it charged through it in pain and panic. The barn shook as well, timbers falling and parts of the loft collapsing as it broke free, and I sprinted into the storm to get away from the collapsing building. 

The beast was stumbling through the crash, unsteady and still clearly in pain. As I watched it stumbled a good few feet from the barn, a roar of what I assumed to be frustration and pain escaping its maw before it collapsed forwards onto the grass. The claws on its feet and on the tips of its wings drew rivets in the earth and it scratched at it desperately, trying to stand to no avail. 

“Arthur!” a voice called out to me, and I looked to see… George. One of the neighbor farmers, he was half dressed in his evening clothes with his hat held in his hand. His wife wasn’t too far behind, and they both came to a stop looking at the burning barn and wyvern with shock. 

“We need to get the cattle in the shed,” I shouted, “and some buckets for the fire!”

George looked towards the wyvern a moment, then at me, fear plain as god's day on his face.

“It can’t damn well move George, but you can so move your ass!” 

More people started coming down the way shortly afterwards, either drawn by the deafening roaring of the creature or the flames billowing into the sky I couldn’t tell or care. All I did care about was that the village boys got the cattle into the barn while George and the rest of them helped put out what remained of the family barn. There wasn’t much left when they were done, the crashing wyvern had already put a damn near irreparable hole in the roof, the fire did the rest. The shed, previously unused, was thankfully enough to shelter the cattle for a while, but there were nowhere near the funds needed to actually rebuild the barn. 

“Hold it down!” A voice shouted, and I pressed down more firmly on the beasts snout as James ran a rope over the beasts neck to hold it in place. The sound of a hammer and nail sounded out a moment later, and the work was done.

The wyvern was held in place by straps going over the wings, neck, and legs, and it was only until myself and the local rancher got to work on it that I noticed the obvious break in its left leg and what appeared to be a burn mark on the top of its head just between the horns. It wasn’t particularly… happy about this arrangement, but it also had little choice in the matter.

I let out a sigh as the work was done and glanced towards the smouldering remains of my barn. If the lack of good crops didn’t end the farm, that certainly would. A growl sounded underneath me and I glanced down to meet eye to eye with the wyvern. “Aye, it’s your fault. Don’t suppose ya have any money do ya?”

It continued glaring at me, not deeming me worthy of growl nor snarl as the villagers start to drift away. More than a few continued to stare at the beast in awe and wonder for some time, but the evening rain saw fit to get rid of them as well in time. Leaving me alone, with an injured wyvern, in the rain. I let out another sigh then run my hands through my soaking wet hair, droplets falling down my face a moment before I look towards the house. There was only one thing to do I supposed. 

“Wait here a moment,” I said quietly. Then walked into the house and went into the older bedroom. Underneath the old unused bed was a set of thicker winter blankets that I hadn’t been using, I grabbed them, tossing them over my shoulder before grabbing some planks by the side of the house I had used in the past to replace broken sections of the roof.

The wyvern watched me as I approached with the bundles, golden eyes unblinking as sputtering tufts of flame lit the grass in front of its snout before the rain put it out. “Aye, ah know yer unhappy, how do ya think ah feel about the whole situation?”

With a grunt I moved the timbers to press together over its head like a triangle, I did the same down its back until I got to the joint of its wings, then I threw the blanket over top of it so the damn thing wasn’t getting rain on its head all night. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do for the rest of its body, but in mere minutes it had trespassed, vandalised, and arson(ed?) my barn, so it would just have to count its blessings. Once my rain-cover was finally set up I looked it over, it would stop any rain from getting down… if wyverns were even bothered by the rain. None of the villagers knew anything about them, except for the teacher at the school. But I did know how to deal with a wounded and scared animal. 

The thick blocks that held the rain from it’s head were too unwieldy, so I braved the shed. It took some time to navigate around the coos while finding things I had buried in the place months ago, but I soon had some thinner pieces of wood and some wire. I carried both back to the wyvern, which stared intently from under its blankets. The beast watched me with an intensity that reminded me of a pastor after the boys tried skipping Sunday lessons. 

“These,” I said, holding up the wire and planks, “are going around yer leg. Any objections?”

It didn’t so much as growl, so I slowly and carefully walked around the side of the beast until I was out of sight. I stepped over the joint of the wings, then kneeled down to take a closer look. The leg was bent slightly, more to the left than the right limb. It was thicker than a cow’s leg by half, and from the looks of the scales it seemed to be more than a little harder to move as well. But it was straight enough in places to get a splint on. I placed my hand slowly and gently on the leg, only for a loud growl to sound out and it’s tail to tug against the bindings holding it to the grass. 

“Calm down boy… girl, thing. Calm yerself. Ah ain’t gonna hurt ya.” The leg jerked from underneath my hand as I inspected the damage, the beast uncomfortably trying to get away as I looked over the injury. I didn’t know anything about wyvern anatomy, but a broken leg was a broken leg. “Right, ah’m gonna get this splinted, if ya try to kick me ya can splint yer own damn leg.” Despite the words I said them quietly and calmly, doing my best to keep it at least somewhat calm despite its planic. Wyverns are said to be smart, let's see if that holds true.

I grabbed the leg and pushed my weight against it. The bone moved back with a loud pop, and the wyvern’s muscles clenched beneath me. A deafening roar came out a moment later, my ears rang as it reared back its head as far as it could. A gout of fire burst from its mouth; a sputtering, breathless thing. I worked quickly, placing the wood on either side of it and tightening the wire around it, and despite the pain it did not kick, holding the limb as still as possible as I worked. A minute later it was done, two pieces of timber sat getting progressively wetter in the rain as they held the joint in the proper place. “Now see, that wasn’t so hard was it?” 

My head then turned from it to the wound on its chest... to my surprise, it had scabbed over already, where before there had been fresh blood, now it was all dried, the wound was still there, an angry pink scab behind the armor plate that rippled unnaturally with every breath the beast took… but it wasn’t bleeding anywhere that I could see. I nod, looking it over one final time before moving around to its head again… slightly to the side so that the beast couldn’t set me on fire. “Right, you get some rest, just roar if ya need my attention for something aye?”

I got no response, and with that I nodded and went back to the house.

Despite the excitement of the evening, sleep wasn’t hard to find.

\---

The next morning was normal, in that it took me glancing outside the window in the kitchen to recall that there was a wyvern on the field. It was staring at me as well, golden eyes watching the house. They glowed at that, the sun wasn’t even out yet but those eyes were bright and visible even in the darkness. 

Right, that was something to deal with. I rummaged through the pantry for a moment before wandering over the shed to let the cows out. The cows, despite the giant predator barely a dozen feet away from them, cared little more than enough to not chew next to its head. I had to usher the stupid things into a feild that didn’t have a fire hazard in it before I wandered over to the beast itself.

It growled as I approached, and I quirked a brow. “Ah don’t speak that language, but ah do bring breakfast if yer feeling peckish.”

I tossed what I retrieved from the pantry forward, some beef… and not a lot at that. It was salted and preserved for a special occasion, though I doubted it would be willing to eat the grass, not like I was going to get that dinner with Mary in any case. The chunk bounced on the grass before it stopped just to the left of its snout. 

The wyvern sniffed audibly, nostrils flaring as it turned its head towards the beef. It stared at it warily for a few moments before it opened its mouth wide, revealing a long forked tongue and many teeth. The mouth clamped down onto the meat with a crunch when a voice called out from behind me. 

“Oh my, so it's true then.” The voice was kind and old, a voice that I had grown to know quite well in my childhood.

I turned my head back to see a man hunched over a cane next to the front fence. McDunnough, the local teacher, formerly a wyvern rider, so he used to tell you anyways. With speed that was at odds with both the cane and his age he got the gate open and walked through the fields towards the beast currently enjoying breakfast. He came to a stop just next to the tent, his eyes looking up and down the wyvern before meeting my own. 

“A rare specimen Arthur; you found a skyracer.”

You met his gaze and nodded. “Right, lets just pretend ah don’t know what that is an’ ya tell me?”

McDunnough adjusted his spectacles before he talked, large heavy things that seem more at odds with his vision than for it. “Sleek wyvern, comes from the Caucasus.” 

“The what?”

The teacher sighed, “from the Russian Empire, it’s a wyvern that lives amongst the mountains, normally.”

“Nearest mountain to here is Merrick,” I gestured towards the barn. “Unless the barn is high’r than ah thought ah think the beast was a bit lost.”

“Yes… what happened exactly?”

The explanation didn’t take long, and by the time you finished McDunnough had kneeled down to get a closer look at the creature. “That wound there, just below the chest plate. The wyvern has pierced the flight sac, it will take time to heal before it can fly again.”

“Ah didn’t notice much flyin’ from it, mostly crashin’ and then tryin’ to run with ah broken leg. Damn thing made a mess.”

McDunnough let out a breath then stood up. “I would imagine it is from the London area, that’s a brand mark between its horns.”

I turned my head towards the ‘burn’ I noticed early, and in the early morning light I can more easily make out what seems to be the symbol of a crown in a circle imprinted onto its scales. “What, someone keepin’ it as a pet?”

“Possible,” McDunnough replied. “More likely due to the breed it was used for racing or the fighting arena. It’s a good and strong breed for that.” 

“Heard there’s good money in that.”

McDunnough nodded and turned to face me fully. “There can be, I can send a message to a friend I still have in Glasgow, get it some food and help get the owner identified.”

“Thank you sir, much appreciated.” I said sincerely, and with that McDunnough walked back towards the fence and out of sight.

The arenas of London were places of fantasy: where wyverns raced, fought, and generally competed for glory and wealth. I stared down the road where McDunnough went, then looked back towards the wyvern that just finished eating the last of the meat I had scrounged from my pantry. 

… Perhaps.


	3. Mr. Crawford

The next several days were long to say the least, and not only due to the fact that I had to keep chasing kids off the farms that wanted to try and pet the wyvern. No. I had been thinking, and since McDunnough left I had been doing precious little else besides. 

The scratch of the pen drew me back from my thoughts. My hand had been working through the arithmetic even if my brain hadn’t been focused. I glanced down at the page to look over my handiwork and smiled, I didn’t remember much of my shoulder beyond the basics… and even then what was offered to me wasn’t much. Not that I minded, whenever I wasn’t in school I was working on the farm, and I much preferred working on the farm to reading any books.

But I did have a talent for arithmetic. If I didn’t the farm wouldn’t have lasted near as long as it did after my parents passed. Course, this year it wouldn’t have done much in the way of good, the money was so tight it didn’t matter how I moved the numbers around… but now there is possibly another option. With the cattle sold I could have gotten close to one-hundred-fifty pound, a rather princely sum all things considered. 

Course, that much could get a man started just about anywhere… for a time at least. Sure I could afford a house, but I didn’t have the skills necessary to pay for it long term. At least, not unless the little plan in the back of my mind actually came to fruition. With a sigh I set down the quill and stretched my arms over my head, several loud pops echoing through the old stone building before I went limp, falling back into my chair and glancing out the window. It was enough money to go to Australia or America, though neither were particularly appealing, but the week since McDunnough sent his letter had given me plenty of time to plan.

I scanned the fields a moment before settling on the former coo pen. There were no coos in it, though that was less due to them being wary of the beast currently residing within and more that I would not let the wyvern take any chances. The beast hadn’t actually made any moves towards them since it arrived, and I’m not sure whether that was due to it not particularly being interested in going after them, or just that the lazy bastard was quite pleased with being fed twice a day.

All I knew was what I could see of it: it’s tail sliding over the grass, the beast laying on its back and basking in the sun. I let it out of its restraints two days ago, mostly because leaving the poor thing in the restraints for much longer would be cruel, and I never saw much point in being mean to god's creatures. Even the coos lived a comfy life before I sent them to the market, and I made sure to make things quick and painless at the end. 

Honestly, I half expected the bastard to bolt and break through the fence to get into the woods, but instead the wyvern had merely stared at me a bit before taking a long limping walk ‘round the pen. The wyvern was either smart and recognized I had been trying to help it, or it realized it was in no shape to get away. In either case it had been relaxing ever since, only bothering to really get active whenever I brought food. Course that’s just during the day: last night I found the corpse of a formerly adventurous whipper drake in there. To say the runt lost the fight would be perhaps putting it mildly. 

Course, just because it was docile didn’t mean it was safe; the damn thing nearly took my head off when I approached it from behind quietly. Since then I had been treating it like a horse, moving slowly and making sure it knew of my presence whenever I got close to it. The ‘myth’ had died for me rather harshly these past few days, the wyvern was, in the end, just another animal… thought it was certainly a powerful one. I watched it as it lounged on the grass, it twisted slightly to adjust itself, and I could see muscle shifting underneath hide as its powerful frame took on the desired position. Every ounce of the beast exuded strength, which is a rather odd thing when one considers it weighed less than the majority of the coos.

‘Hollow-boned’ was the term I think McDunnough used, something about how it's body forms to make it easier for it to attain flight. Frankly I never remembered any biology I didn’t need to take care of the animals… and it certainly wouldn’t be flying anytime soon in any case. The wound on its chest healed rapidly, as did the leg, but according to McDunnough the sac full of gas lodged in its chest would take a good while longer to fix itself. I could fix sheep, coos, horses, goats, and ram, but damn if I knew the first things about wyverns and no local stores carried books about wyvern husbandry. I checked. 

Still, I consoled myself, I could only learn as I went. I leant back in my seat to look out the front door towards the coos. They cared little for the change in housing or the fact that they had a new neighbor. Once the shed was filled with hay to sleep on they continued on their lives with little in the way of fussing. I watched as Dylan lifted his head from the grass, tufts of green sticking out of his mouth as he turned to look back down the road. My eyes flicked from the coo to the road as well, just in time to see what it was that had attracted Dylan’s interest. 

A carriage was making its way down the road, bouncing slightly as the wheels caught every divot and rough patch along the way. Two strong black horses pulled it along, guided by a coach driver sitting on the front bench. Red curtains were drawn open on the interior windows, though the angle didn’t allow me to actually see inside. I heard the carriage a moment later, the clacking of wood as it sped along doing well to let anyone and everyone know that someone important (or at least rich) was coming. 

Course the point was rather moot, since I was the only one around for a mile in any direction. I watched it round the road, then blinked in surprise as it started to slow down… then came to a stop just at the gate of my property. The drivers hopped off the bench and landed in the mud, taking rather exaggerated steps as he made his way around the side to open the door to the carriage. A man stepped out first, my eyes widened as I took him in. From the black frock coat he was wearing to the silver cane he was holding the man clearly had some form of wealth. I watched as he turned around to help out a woman, she was dressed in the same form of frock he was, though while he settled for some form of black cotton pants she was wearing a bright red twilled skirt. Both were more than likely in their mid thirties by my estimation, and I watched as they rather smartly stepped over the deeper patches of mud to make their way to my gate.

… Right. I slicked back my hair as best I could before I stepped outside, one hand idly brushing off bits of dirt from my suspenders as I made my way down the hill towards the front of the property. At my approach the man raised his hand in greeting, the other cupping around his mouth as he shouted. “Is this the Adair residence?” 

There was a bit of stutter to my step before I continued. The man was English, not Scottish. No matter, just not what I ex-. Actually dressed like that, nevermind. 

“Aye, it is.” I replied, making my way down to the gate before stopping just in front of him. “Yer speaking to Arthur Adair.” I said, moving to unlock the gate as I did so.

The man extended a hand the moment the gate was opened, and I was slightly surprised by the strength of his grip as he shook my own. “Crawford Bailey,” the man said, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement in the early morning light. He then jerked towards the side to draw attention to the woman standing just to his rear and left. “The missus Bailey.”

“Ma’am.” I said politely, lowering my hand from the shake as I turned my full focus back onto Crawford. “How can ah help ya?”

Crawford grinned and stepped past me, his shoes sinking in the mud… not that he seemingly cared as he made his way up the hill into my property. The missus followed quickly after, and I was left staring after them both for several moments before my brain caught up with my legs and I was chasing after. 

He disappeared around the corner of the barn, a loud excited cheer sounding out a moment later. It took me rounding the corner of the house myself a second later to see why, Crawford was clapping his hands together with a smile of childlike glee on his face. 

“A Caucus Skyracer!” his shout carried over the hills, and it didn’t take more than the sound of confused mooing behind you to tell that his shout had drawn Dylan and the rest’s attention.

“Oh my,” the missus uttered quietly, one hand moving to cover her mouth as she looked over the ‘majestic’ beast. 

“Particularly rare?” you asked, raising your voice to get Crawford’s attention.

“Oh, no at all.” Crawford looked back at you, not losing the grin as he did so. “Downright common in the right places in fact, but it is rare in England. Most can’t seem to adapt to the warmer climate.”

You turned your head from Crawford to look at the beast. The wyvern was still laying on its back, with its wings spread out to catch as much sunlight as it could, though the wyvern had turned its head slightly to watch all of you with one eye. 

“Really now?” You said after a few pregnant moments. 

Crawford didn’t respond to the question, instead the man moved around the side of the paddock, alternating between crouching down low and standing on the tips of his toes as he looked the wyvern over. The beast watched him for a time, before losing interest it closed its eyes again and went back to enjoying the sun. 

A rather traitorous sight, the creature has been damn skittish, I’d learned rather quickly that it let out little juts of flame whenever it felt threatened or scared by something. My old pair of now burnt boots learned that lesson as well. Crawford however has no such issues. 

“The brand is… unknown to me, but see here?” Crawford gestured to the top of the brand: a crown insignia. “Definitely of london.” He nodded, finally kneeling down to get a closer look through the fence. “I can take some sketches and send it back to see if some contacts of mine can find a match.”

“Do ah have to give it back?” 

Crawford stared at the wyvern a moment longer before turning to look at me. “Of course,” then he smiled again. “Growing fond of it?”

“Not particularly,” I replied honestly. “Just was curious… would it be alright if I just took it to London myself to give it to the owner?”

Crawford stared at me, and I watched as he pressed his hands against his knees to stand himself up. “Whatever for?”

I shrugged. “Maybe this rich guy needs someone to take care of the wyvern? Looks like the last guy weren’t too good at it in any case: there’s scuff marks on its ankles from cuffs, and least from what ah can reckon those scratches around the joints of the wings sure look like it was bound.”

Crawford blinked in surprise then looked back at the beast, one hand moving to his chin as he looked towards the spots I pointed out. “It isn’t particularly uncommon, the marks that is. London is a… crowded city, keeping a wyvern takes considerable effort.” He then looked back at me, the hand that was on his chin moving to press his cane into the ground. “I have brought food for the wyvern, if you wished to leave for London I would recommend taking the train from Glasgow.”

I smiled.


	4. Giving up the Farm

Thanks to @armoury for the beta!

\---

My plate was slightly fuller than normal as I ate breakfast the next morning, that was in part due to me not having to stockpile food for later anymore… and that I might as well enjoy a few breakfasts beyond just eating apples. God above knows that I may not be seeing this farm again for some time if the plan goes well.

… Well, to be honest to call it a plan is perhaps a bit weak. More of a desperate idea brought on by a wyvern crashing into my barn. The thought of finding the owner to seek reparation was briefly on my mind before I thought better of it, I don’t have the means to support my case… and it would hit the finances I barely have to begin with to hire one of those traveling lawmen. Course, if I won the prosecutor would be paid for, but I couldn’t justify the risk to begin with. Besides, the barn isn’t worth the effort for a failing farm to begin with. 

No, due to that there is no saving the farm, at the time being. If I played my cards right I could get a nice payout in London from whoever owned this beast and save up money to rebuild the barn and expand the farm itself… maybe hire some helpers while I’m at it. My lips turned up at the thought, little better than the ranchers. But I didn’t have a family to support anymore, and I didn’t plan on getting one anytime soon for that matter, so might as well use the situation that god has given me to my best advantage. If there was one thing I was capable of doing on this earth it was rearing animals, and if they are so bad at it in London that one can go crashing into my barn like a lightning strike then I have a chance at a good line of work. 

It still left a bad taste in my mouth to have to abandon the farm in such a way, but I’m not so stubborn that I won’t seek another option to save it. I took another bite of the jerky I was eating then glanced out the window towards the ‘wyvern pen’. The beast had taken up its favorite spot, that being the corner near the fences so that it could watch the distant forest while the small wooden posts ‘defend it’ from the back. Course it could take whatever position it wanted, the thing had made a mess of several pests that had been skulking around the farm recently. 

The beast had settled in rather comfortable, a species that had a ‘unique, solitary but loyal temperament.’ Per what Crawford told me anyways, I still wasn’t sure quite what to make of the ‘expert’ McDunnough sent my way, be he promised to be coming around again today to work out the details of my trip to London… mostly advice on who and where to look, and to give me more information about the beast itself. I knew precious little about cattle of the winged and fire-breathing variety, and he promised he would be coming back with reference material and what knowledge he and his wife had with him.

For now though, there were the morning chores to take care of, and to see if I could help out the beast without getting my top half separated from my bottom half by means of teeth. I took one last bite of the jerky before walking to the front door and opening it, only to take an immediate step back a moment later. There, laying on the nearest stone to the door that makes up the walkway to the front of the house was a whipper drake, it’s short body curled up in death, the cause of which was rather obviously the pair of gashes along its neck. 

Dried blood stained the stone, not quite brown to reveal that it hadn’t been there very long. I stared at it for a few moments, then slowly reached down to gingerly pick it up and glanced towards the wyvern pen. The wyvern wasn’t looking my way, but unless one of the coos suddenly gained claws or this whipperdrake committed suicide I knew who left this during the night. 

Gripping the pest carefully I walked back into the house and laid it on the table… I hadn’t cooked myself a whipper drake since I was a kid, but I wouldn’t turn down lunch. For now I had chores to get to.

\---

With the release of a latch the coos stepped out of the new ‘barn’, grateful moos sounded into the morning air as they trotted their way to their favorite bits of grass. Dylan, Bonni, and the rest moved past me, tails flicking behind them as they enjoyed the morning air. 

“Last day for you boys and girls,” I said quietly, turning around to watch them for a bit as they grazed before I started to make my way over to the wyvern pen. 

The beast’s head turned towards me as I walked, a small jet of flame escaping its mouth as its nostrils flared. It watched me all the way to the gate, then it moved to sit up fully as I entered the paddock. “Well good morning ya big scaled bastard.” I greeted it warmly, the same way I did all my animals. As much as this one was ‘mine’ in any case. 

The wyvern tilted its head, watching me carefully before it shuffled over to me on its wingtips. It was quite a thing to see a wyvern move in person, they were always portrayed as these great and majestic creatures, hell the queen’s own symbol was a Nottingham Skyling, a big old bastard of a beast I’d heard tale of living near the Tower of London, ‘course I’d never seen it, but the bastard was supposed to be so big it couldn’t even fly. This thing… removed most of the ‘grace’ that was associated with the breed. Indeed, as it moved towards me using its legs for movement and wingtips for balance it was more like an ungraceful animal than anything else. Still impressive, but just an animal. 

It stopped just a few feet away from me, head lowering down as it blew hot air over my body. The breath smelled of carrion and woodsmoke, and I slowly reached behind my back to produce a sack I had tied there. The wyvern noticed my movement immediately, its eyes tracking my hands as I moved the sack around then opened it on the ground. It revealed a rather large slab of meat spiced with comfrey root to help with the pain caused by the beast’s damaged tissue. 

It dived in on it the second I stepped away, its jaws snapped shut around the meat and swallowed it without chewing. It’s long tongue slithered out to lick its chops, and it idly sniffed at the leather left behind as I moved around to its wing. I reached out slowly and carefully to touch it, my hand planting onto the rough leathery skin that frames the wing itself. 

Almost immediately the beast turned its head, watching me careful as I felt the skin beneath my hand. It’s muscle, thick and strong in stark contrast to the thin almost bat-like wing it frames. I slowly and with deliberate showy movements moved my hand not touching the wing to my side to produce a small leather pouch. “This is coneflower, ah’m gonna apply it to the joint… just stay calm beastie.” 

The hand on the wing slid down towards the wound on the joint, and the moment I got within a foot of the wound the wing surged forward. “Gah!” 

I kept a desperate grip on the pouch as I bounced along the paddock’s ground. I rolled several times, coming to a groaning stop sideways on the grass and facing the beast. It glared at me, yellow eyes reflecting the morning light with clear warning.

Unfortunately it was looking at a Scotsman. I spat loose bits of dirt and grass out of my mouth and stood up, my hands moved to pull the coat I was wearing off and tossed it onto the fence, leaving me in just my white shirt, vest, and trews. I met its gaze, grinning from ear to ear as I held up the pouch. 

“Ah’m gonna help ya out whether ya like it or not beastie. Ya ain’t much worse than a bull, and ah’d rather do this the easy way.”

With that I took a step forward, then another, and another. My hands held out at my side, not in a gesture of dominance, but one of placation. The slow steps hopefully conveyed I wasn’t a threat, though if the beast thought I was a threat at this point there wasn’t much I could do to fix it regardless. The thing was smart, damn smart, and it was more likely reacting out of fear of pain than anything else. 

The beast growled, backing away as I approached… but not fast enough. I slowly, gently placed my hand back onto the wing, then slowly slid it towards the wound. The beast stopped, breathing heavily as my hand neared, before letting out another very low growl as I got close to the wound itself. The beast didn’t move, just stared at me as I looked over the injury. The skin was damaged, cut and compressed from where it was bound by what appears to have been rope. The skin was badly irritated, and several open sores are present from where the rope must have been frayed.

My eyes narrowed at the sight of it, then I dipped my finger into the coneflower ointment and moved them to the wound proper. 

“It’ll be alright… girl?” To be honest I hadn’t checked, but I continued the soothing words regardless as I finally placed your hand onto the wound proper. The wyvern let out a sound between a growl and a yelp, and bucked hard. This time I leapt, grasping onto one of the ridge of its back to haul myself up as the beast desperately jerked underneath me. “Calm yerself!” I shouted, my hand running the ointment over the wound rapidly. “It’ll be alright ya dumb brute!”

My hand clutched onto the spine for dear life as the beast ran around in circles, its legs kicking against the ground, before… it stopped. Its head turned to look at me, and the hand applying the ointment, golden eyes unblinking as I worked. I grinned, “yeah? Feels better doesn’t it?”

It didn’t move as I continued, and to my surprise by the time I got to the point I had to work on the joint of the second wing the beast raised it of its own volition, watching me carefully as I applied the yellow ointment. “That’s right, it’ll all be over soon. Whoever owned ya was a real bastard ya know that?” It took only a few more minutes of work before both joints were covered in the yellow mix, and I leaned back to admire my work… 

“Woah!” Only to go tumbling off the beast as it bucked again. I spun around the moment I hit the dirt, pain lancing through my elbows as I hit the thankfully soft ground. A word of challenge and anger was on my lips… quickly lost as I stared up at the visage of the beast a mere few inches away from my own. It’s eyes blinked once, then it growled and turned away to stomp across the paddock. “Aye, well ah bastard fer a bastard then.” I muttered, then pulled myself up off the ground and brushed the dirt and grass off my trews. Right, well, that should hold it until the evening at least, for now I had other tasks to do, cleanup work to finish before rich Mr. Crawford arrived agai-

As those thoughts crossed my mind I saw a cart coming down the road, a familiar one at that. “Well, how early for a cityman.” 

With a grunt I grabbed my coat and slid it on, then made my way down to the road to meet him.


	5. Disgust

I made my way down the hill quickly, there was much to do today and despite the early hour it felt like there was precious little time to do it. The sun had just started to give out the faintest hint of light to the east as I awoke, and now that the morning tasks were done it had well and truly risen, revealing a deep fog that settled in over the distant hills, and the cart now bouncing slightly on the rough-trodden dirt road that went by the farm.

By the time it came to a stop near my gate I was already there, unlocking it before leaning against the stone fence as Crawford (alone this time) stepped out of the carriage. The smile on his face was jubilant, and it only grew in fervor as he spotted me and made his way over.

“Arthur! It is good to see you again! How is the wyvern? How are you?”

I offered a hand for the man to shake, which he did jubilantly a moment before I spoke. “Ah’m fine, thanks for askin. The wyvern is healin’ well enough, bit fighthy but it left a dead whipperdrake on my doorstep this mornin, so ah think that’s as good a sign as any it’s warmin’ up to me a little.” Of course, I also didn’t mention how it bucked me like an onerous coo come heat, but that’s beside the matter.

“Wyverns imprint well, much like canids in that regard,” Crawford replied.

I nodded, having no idea what a ‘canid’ was but felt it was the right idea to nod regardless, in any case, Crawford continued.

“They bond particularly well to good hosts, so for one to warm up to you so quickly would make it quite clear it is enjoying the care it is being given.” Crawford’s smile lost it’s jubilant qualities as he said that, turning to something far more simpler and… calm, I suppose the word would be. “I must say you have done a remarkable job so far, might I enter your abode so that we can speak further, the weather in the Lowlands is… disagreeable with me.”

I glanced up towards the empty sky, faint traces of white clouds with a hint of rain further south. It was a bit chilly in the morning to be sure, but nothing that should be a problem. Of course, my mind was also mulling over the fact that apparently the previous host was so poor the beast was willing to warm up to me in the short time I’ve had it around. But I had my suspicions already just from the wounds caused by its bondage, my lips curled slightly at the thought but I nodded and gestured for the man to walk onwards.

Crawford bowed his head slightly in thanks, and with the walk of a man who clearly rarely walks on mud he made his way up the hill towards my small home with his hands clasped behind his back. His steps were heavy, struggling with the ground that had been rained on the previous night, mud caked his fancy shoes… he transitioned to walking on the roots and rocks rather quickly. My steps were a fair bit more practiced and quicker, and by the time he made it to the door I already had it held open and waiting for him.

“Thank you Arthur,” Crawford said, stepping past me and into the building proper. His muddy shoes added to the already mud-painted floor, but that, at least at that moment, was far from my worries.

“Feel free to take ah seat, ah don’t have much but ya can make yerself comfortable.”

Crawford took the invitation, moving to pull back one of the three seats at the table and sitting himself upon it. He may just have been the most finely dressed man to have ever entered this house, and for a moment he looked out the window towards the Wyvern pacing around in the paddock before he turned his full attention onto me. “Right, so I’ve gone ahead and gotten the tickets, you are sure of this… plan of yours?”

I nodded, leaning against the pantry wall. “Ah’ve got a gentleman coming today to pickup the cattle, he’s already paid, so I’ll be able to pay you back for that and the help you’ve given me so far. And hirin’ the help of yer carriage of course.”

Crawford stared at me for a moment before nodding, his fingers rapping lightly on the wooden table before he pulled back to lean against the seat. The old wood creaked at the motion, but held as steady as it had the last century it had been around. “Right, the train will take you directly into London from Glasgow, it’s one of the newer models so it should get you there rather quickly.”

“How long will it take? Never been to either city.”

Crawford jerked his head towards the door. “About an hour to get to Glasgow, then a good eight to get to London proper. If you’ve never been to Glasgow though, there are some things you should know.”

I stared at him, letting the silent question hang in the air before he continued.

“Expect to see more Wyverns about, both on the roofs and in building’s proper. Plenty more there than out here.” Crawford explained, his hands moved up to grasp each other as he talked. “Carriage pullers, fire lighters, general smaller breeds that hang around the roofs and hunt stray animals.”

“And if one were to attack some random bloke from the Lowlands?” I asked carefully.

Crawford shrugged. “Owner would be expected to pay due recompense, and there’s a size limit as to what is allowed on the street. The wyvern out there in the paddock for instance would have to be kept in a cage as we take it to the train.”

My gaze hardened and I glanced out the window. “What form of cage?”

“Oh plenty for it to be comfortable. Just something so that it can’t leap out to go after something, or fly away.”

I snorted, turning back. “It won’t be flying for some time yet, not that ah’m an expert on how these beasts work to begin with. Ah assume it’ll be loaded onto the train cage an’ all?”

“That would be the case, yes, it will be in its own sealed compartment. It… isn’t precisely cheap.”

I glanced past Crawford towards the coos eating outside. “That… has been taken care of. For now, when does this cage of yours arrive?”

\---

To say the beast was unhappy about being dragged into the cage would be understating the matter, it took a good five men to actually get the muzzle around the beast’s snout, then all of their collective efforts to actually drag the thing into the cage. Still, the job was done, and the wyvern was now laying down in it as the farmland passed by behind me.

I didn’t miss the look of anger the beast gave me, but I was a fair bit more distracted watching my farm disappear behind me for… possibly the last time, to really care. To say it left me with no small amount of shame would be putting it lightly, but at the same time I didn’t really have a choice either. I could struggle and survive for another season, or I could gamble… and despite what the Lord said about gambling, sometimes a man has precious little choice but to do so with his fortunes.

“So why the fascination with Wyverns? And helpin’ me out for that matter.” The thought had been on my mind for some time, and I didn’t much trust the wealthy type in the city to care so much about the plight of some Lowland farmer.

Crawford gave me a slightly guilty smile from where he was sitting on the carriage’s indoor cushion. The inside was a fair bit more posh than any place I had been in prior. “I have had a fascination for the care of Wyvern’s since a younger age, I can actually thank McDunnough for that, he was touring when I was a younger boy and I had the chance to meet and speak with him.” His tone got more wistful as he spoke, and as his eyes glanced out the window I could tell he was reminiscing his earlier years.

“He taught me a great many things, so when he asked if I could come to assist with something, well…” Crawford turned back to look at me and shrugged his shoulders. “How could I not?”

“Ah’m afraid ah only knew him as the local teacher, and even then I didn’t see him too much.” I admitted, the man was knowledgeable on the beasts, but he never had much to say about his past in regards to them beyond showing off some racing trophies. As a child they had fascinated me of course, as did every other boy that age. But life rather ripped the fascination of such things away rather harshly.

In my case it was a mix of having to take care of the farm, and the fact that one had slammed into my barn and started to act like a half-tin housecat.

“He was quite a sight in his prime I am told,” Crawford replied. “But enough of that, I could talk about that all day. I will be accompanying you to London as it is a good excuse to take care of some of my own business, do you require assistance in locating the owner? You do rather… stand out.”

I glanced down at the clothing I was wearing, the finest I owned actually. A clean brown vest, undershirt, and blue tartan hanging down my waist. I was not the pinnacle of London high society, but I was not some Lowland beggar either. But, I was also dressed in a highly traditional fashion, that much I could admit. “Ah wouldn’t say no,” at the very least he could be an introduction.

Crawford smiles at that, “then we should head for Victorian Station when we arrive. Our destination would be the Grosvenor area, the land around Hyde’s park is a popular place for those of… a richer persuasion to show off their stock.”

I nodded, though I had no idea what he was talking about. Instead I looked out the window myself, settling for watching the terrain pass as Crawford rattled on more about the districts of London in the background.

\---

Due to my position in the carriage I was afforded a view of Glasgow before Crawford was, not that the man could be surprised by it. I on the other hand… was. Miles upon miles of brick buildings stretched out east to west, chimney’s from their roofs sending black smoke into the sky that threatens to choke. To say Glasgow was larger than the town I grew up in would be like comparing a fire to the sun, there is no close comparison. The buildings, unlike those back in the village, mostly have flat roofs, and this at first confused me until I saw the plethora of airships perched atop them.

Even as we rode further into the city I could see several coming and going, wyverns strapped to them flapping their wings either to descend gradually or to take off into the air. That was impressive, but what had moved on from impressive to terrifying and mind boggling to equal measure was the industry that passed the windows by as the cart moved. For every draught horse pulling yard to move some stock, there was a large bestial wyvern with clipped wings pulling a load twice as large.

Near the approaching station I could see factories: smoke-stacks billowing and doors thrown open. This place too had more and larger wyverns than home: lighting fires and superheating metals. Blasts of intense fire lit the inside of the buildings every few seconds as the fires of industry were coughed up by shackled wyverns.

The sight of the bindings made my stomach churn, and I turned away towards the city proper. More of the beasts littered the rooftops, staring down at the roads below. It was a city filled with them, in everything that entailed.

“Impressed Arthur?” Crawford asked.

No… no I was not.


End file.
